


Fox Holes

by vonBoomslang



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff Despite Dark Themes, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mostly Fluff, Police Procedural, Post-Canon, dark themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-06-03 17:00:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6618835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vonBoomslang/pseuds/vonBoomslang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world has always been broken. Zootopia, for all its wonders, has a dark side, one the ZPD must always be ready to face. Both to protect the citizens, and to keep each other safe, from the largest to the two smallest. And the more the world pushes, the closer they grow. </p><p>One thing’s for sure though: It’s gonna get worse before it gets better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. WOLF'S BANE

_There was a knock on the doorframe._

“Hey, Carrots-- Carrots? ...Judy?”

She wasn't asleep. She had, however, been motionlessly staring at nothing in particular for the past minute or so. It took the sound of her name, said with concern, to bring her back to reality. She _did_ jump in her seat, but only a little.

“Sorry.” She mumbled towards the blue-and-fox colored blur in the cubicle’s entrance, then rubbed at her eyes.

“Long day.” The blur said, resolving into one Nicholas Wilde, complete with tired eyes and his tie and the top button of his uniform undone. He didn't say it like it was a question. It was just understanding, and sympathy.

It was also the truth. It had already been a long day back when their shift ostensibly ended. They'd been doing the legwork on a breaking & entering case, following up on some leads and hunches. The more she looked into it, the more she found herself leaning towards Nick’s suspicion that the entire thing was an elaborate insurance scam. It was just… Too neat, too convenient. Sure, she would have preferred to be with the mammals investigating the attempted kitnapping, but… Somebody had to do the (proverbial, thankfully, usually) parking duty, and they did get to help out with a major case just the other week…

Ultimately, submitting the report on the B&E case left her with the sense of a job well done, and looking forward to a hot shower. She was about to say her goodbyes to Nick when, on some instinct, her ear perked up.

Last she saw Benjamin Clawhauser, he was beaming at them around a donut, waving with endearing enthusiasm even as his other hand went for the phone. Now, he had a confused expression, and was looking towards them. “Yes sir, they were just leaving…”, she just barely heard him say. The following gasp she saw more than she heard, but when he yelled out their names and frantically beckoned them over… Well, the cheetah could be surprisingly loud when he put his mind to it.

They looked at each other, and hurried back.

“What’s up, Benny?” Nick asked while she was already, in her head, going over the ten things that could have gone wrong.

“Chief wants to see you.”

“Now?” She blurted out, the idea of the warm shower replaced by numbers eleven through twenty.

The cheetah nodded quickly, with a concerned expression. “Said it’s important.”

There was a worried little pause as Judy and Nick both looked up towards Bogo’s office. “I… think we should go.” She said.

“Understatement of the year?” He asked, managing a small smile, and she didn’t even try not to join in, not really.

And then he said… then he said, “How are you holding up, Carrots? You zoned out there for a minute.”, but it wasn’t then, it was hours later and she was still working on the report.

She shook her head to clear it. “I’m fine.” She lied.

“You sure? You look like I do in the mornings.”

She lifted up a finger, took a breath to retort, caught her reflection in her screen, and decided to silently concede the point. But she wouldn’t give up the fight. “How _are_ you still on your feet, anyway?”

“Foxes are nocturnal.” He said, falling into that casual, dismissive tone. But she knew him well enough to recognize it, and knew to expect a followup. “Also, coffee.” He admitted, gesturing with a styrofoam cup he had in his hand. “Want some?” He offered, extending it towards her.

“Thanks, but you know I don’t--” She began, but then her nose twitched, and she actually looked down. That wasn’t the smell of coffee. Not the right color, either. In fact… “...is this… carrot juice?”

“What?” Nick blinked, far too earnestly feigning surprise, his head snapping down and back to stare at her again. “Can’t be, break room doesn’t have--”

“ _Gimme._ ” She almost lunged for the cup. She might have clawed for it, she wasn’t sure. Nick just grinned and deftly handed it over without spilling a drop. She took a sip, just a sip, and didn’t stop until half of it was gone. The loud sigh she gave afterwards was something worthy of a commercial. “Oh and it’s the good stuff too-- seriously, Nick, where did you get this?!”

“Oh, you know,” He began, drawing out the sounds, spinning a tale that might be true enough, or true entirely, a scary thought, “There’s this tiny deli around the block from here, they were closing up already, but I namedropped you, turns out they buy from your folks, and…”

But, she’d be ashamed to admit, she wasn’t listening, lulled into a state of happy bliss by the cupful of freshly squeezed carrot juice, rich and thick and tasting of home and sunshine and her mother’s smile when she made a fresh glass…

It took her a long moment to return to reality. Nick was still standing there, with a smug smile. She couldn’t even protest. He’d earned that one. He gestured to her half-done report with a wave of his hand. “How’s it coming along?”

She settled on a disappointed, frustrated sound in lieu of a proper answer, turning around to resume her work. At least now she had a clearer head. She tried to remember how she got in this situation again…

Oh, right.

“Chief? You wanted to see us?” She’d poked her head in the door. Nick, of course, followed, largely because it equal parts annoyed and amused her. Bogo was at his desk, rubbing at his forehead, talking on the phone and ignoring a second one ringing on his desk. He glanced at them and held up one hand, silently asking for three more minutes. She’d also swear, and this was important, he gave them a look of slight apology. Perhaps they weren’t the ones in trouble.

So they waited, on those plastic bench chairs outside his office, Nick seemingly dozing with his arms and legs crossed, her only not nervously tapping her foot because she couldn’t reach the ground. (Somebody once, as a joke, replaced her office chair with a kittie one. She never found out who did it, but Bogo did, and was unhappy. Loudly unhappy. The kittie chair disappeared the same day. Pity, too, it was pretty comfy.) She had to settle for kicking at the air.

“You think this is Bogo’s idea of a joke?” She asked five minutes into their three minute wait. Nick opened his eyes and gave a thoughtful sound.

“Not his style.” He decided eventually. “He’s more into ‘scary and unfunny’, not ‘pointlessly mean’--” He cut off suddenly, leaning forward, squinting at something one floor down and across the hall. She followed his sight, to a group of ZPD officers having an animated discussion, complete with energetic gesturing. She recognized McHorn and Trunkaby, and a pig she didn’t know the name of but was pretty certain worked the evening shift. The rest were too small to identify at that distance, especially when one (a canine of some sort?) jogged away to another group.

“What…?” She began, ears already turned forward to try and listen in, but the room was too open, too prone to getting an echo. The most she could tell was that a conversation was taking place.

“Something’s up.” Nick said, in his serious, slightly concerned voice. Given his eyes and knowledge of body language, she was okay with defering to him on this one. “They’re excited about some news and, look, that’s Delgato coming up--”

He trailed off. Neither of them expected the tiger’s reaction to the apparent good news. Surprise, followed by an unexpectedly complex happy dance.

“...so that’s a thing--.”

“Hopps, Wilde!” Bogo’s voice came through the door. They didn’t waste time getting in. The Chief looked… Judy couldn’t quite tell. Annoyed, but not at them. Pleased, but apprehensive? Tired. Definitely tired. Not in the mood or position to waste time with lead-ins or pleasantries. “Sit. Do either of you have any plans for this evening?”

They looked at each other. If she had any, Judy figured they could wait for another time. “No, sir.” She said, noticing Nick shaking his head as well.

“Good. I’m going to need you to stay longer today.”

“Something come up, sir?” Nick asked, but before he could even finish, Bogo’s cell phone rang. He glanced down, grimaced, and jabbed a finger down on the ‘reject’ button. Judy was surprised the screen didn’t crack. She was beginning to worry again.

“Yes.” Bogo answered, with the briefest of smiles. It wasn’t one of the friendly ones. It wasn’t that it didn’t reach his eyes - it was fleeing from them. It suggested he was going to enjoy something far more than whoever was on the receiving end. She hoped it wasn’t them. She was right. “We’ve finally got some good dirt on Amadeus. Lupine’s bringing him in--”

“YES!!!”

Almost three hours later, Judy still felt embarrassed about that outburst. She put her hand over her eyes, suppressing an amused chuckle. If somebody told her that her celebratory leap touched the ceiling, she’d believe them. Still, even in retrospect, it was entirely understandable.

Amadeus, she thought to herself, returning to her report. Not his real name, of course, but the one he liked to do business under. He’d shown up shortly after Lionheart’s arrest, as an outspoken and concerned self-styled pillar of the predator community, and remained a thorn in the ZPD’s side ever since. He was as crooked as they came, and everybody knew it but nobody could prove anything. What little evidence they had wouldn’t hold up in court. He’d already publicly humiliated the ZPD three times, and nobody would quickly forget the sight of Bogo calmly and methodically tearing the morning paper into ever smaller shreds. It didn’t help that he had half the city’s media in his pocket, and probably had dirt on the other half.

But he’d slipped up. And it took everything they had just to follow up on that. A tireless detective to ask all the right questions and a handsome investigator with a heart-melting smile to ask them _right_. A sharp-eyed kid with an eye for names and numbers, a conspicuous lack of a paper trail, and a dozen beat cops to rule out the possibilities. Even, yes, a bunny who could get a scared little squirrel to confide in her, and a fox who knew a guy who knew a guy who knew a gal who knew a guy who could photographically disprove an alibi. And ultimately, buckets upon buckets upon buckets of luck.

The ZPD had a chance. But they had to be careful not to lose it again. Which was why…

Judy blinked, her mouth hanging open. She thought she misheard. She thought Bogo was joking, but the Chief’s face was stoic as ever. In the chair next to her, Nick’s expression had moved from a brief foray into the unusual ‘flabbergasted’ into one of his many thoughtful ones. Still, she had to make sure.

“Sir, you want _us_ to interrogate Amadeus?” She asked urgently, but didn’t even wait for him to answer. “Why us?”

Bogo opened his mouth to answer, only to be interrupted by the ringtone again. He jabbed a finger down on the red icon with barely a glance. “Because, Hopps, if he tries making tomorrow’s headlines say ‘police brutality’ again, I want the record to state he was with the only two ZPD officers smaller than him.”

Judy was about to say something, then stopped entirely as her instincts demanded she consider the rather frightening prospect of being locked in a small room with a large predator. The little reassuring thought of Nick being with her quickly gave way to the no less horrifying idea of Nick being in a room with a predator larger than the two of them combined. She suddenly felt rather bad for resenting the way Bogo always insisted on one of the larger officers being around one the rare times either herself or Nick got to interrogate a suspect larger than a weasel or fox.

Something must’ve shown in her expression, because the chief continued. “We’ll be right outside.” He said, voice slightly warmer, more reassuring, but only slightly. “But I don’t want him and his sharp tongue in the same room as… as McHorn, or Howles, or…”

“Yourself?” Nick quickly suggested, which earned him a quiet, unamused look. But not, Judy noticed, one of disagreement.

“What about the others?” She found herself blurting out. Her sense of duty had been blindsided by irrational self-preservation, and was still recovering. “There’s… there’s… um.” She trailed off, suddenly reminded of every single ‘just let me get my hands on him’ she had overheard from her coworkers. Just as suddenly, she finally recognized an enthusiastically received gesture that she’d been wondering about for a while as ‘mammal falling down stairs’. It wasn’t helping her case.

“...Clawhauser?” She eventually suggested meekly, then paused. Judging by their expressions, Nick and Bogo both had the exact same thought as her. The jolly, friendly cheetah pitted against the wolf who could get under anybody’s fur. She imagined, far too easily, those large eyes filling with tears. And _everybody_ liked Clawhauser…

“Well.” Nick broke the silence. “I guess ‘suspect dies in custody’ is one way to--”

“ **Wilde.** ”

He shut up, instantly, with just a flash of a victorious smile. Bogo hadn’t shouted, didn’t even raise his voice. The tired glare and the evenly spoken name weren’t even a threat. They were a warning, a promise that if he _had_ to issue threats, somebody would find the result very unpleasant. Judy momentarily wanted to shudder just from being in the same room.

“We’ll do it, chief.” She heard Nick say. She realized he hadn’t asked her at about the same time she also realized she’d nodded along. Her worries could wait.

And then... and then it was half an hour later and she’d been studying the case files so intently she could see them when she closed her eyes. Nick seemed calm and collected but she knew enough of his body language to recognize it as, at least to some degree, putting on a brave face. He kept staring thoughtfully ahead, then suddenly leafing through the file in search of something, then staring again. It brought to mind a schoolkit quizzing themselves before a big test, or maybe an actor making sure they remember their lines. And then they saw him.

Amadeus was… Judy was surprised to realize he wasn't as large as he seemed. He looked imposing but… that was the stockiness of his build, the puffiness of his brown fur, the careful cut of his shirt, not actual height. The room was designed for lions and bears, and so was the table. As a result, his feet didn’t touch the ground. It was a small thing, but it got a small snicker out of her, and helped calm her nerves.

Briefly. He was still larger than either her or Nick, and even sitting alone in the interrogation room he had a kind of casual smug smile like he owned the place. She realized part of her didn't like him based on that smile alone, and she was partway through scolding herself for old prejudices, before she mentally backtracked.

“Where's his lawyer?” She asked, glancing at the uniformed wolf next to her.

“Out of town and on her way.” Howles grumbled. He had a head on Amadeus, and an expression like he wanted to forcefully drag him out. “Says he won't answer any questions till she's here.”

“Hmm.” Nick said, ears perking a little curiously. “How long before she gets here?”

“With this traffic? Maybe... twenty minutes.”

“Hmm.” Nick repeated. Judy had been looking at him by then, trying to guess what was on his mind, but in the end, he didn't give her the time. “I can work with that. Catch.”

That last bit was directed at her, as was the thick file he was holding, carelessly tossed in her direction. She scrambled to catch it and balance it on top of her own pile, and by the time she could look back at him, he already had the door open.

“While we’re young, Hopps.” He said in an exasperated voice and walked in. She took a breath and shouldered her way in after him, ready to give him a piece of her mind, but she didn't get the chance.

Not back then, at least.

“I still haven't forgiven you, you know.”

“Mn?” Nick looked up from going over part of her report. Between the two of them, they were making good time.

“For treating me like, well. Like Bellwether.”

“Ouch.” He put his ears down for a moment. “I don’t think I was that bad.”

“You were pretty bad.”

“Didn’t close the door in your face though.”

“...true.” She chuckled a bit, then covered her mouth when it turned into a yawn.

“Besides.” He pointed at her with one end of his pen, visibly, valiantly struggling not to join her. He managed it. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Yeah.” she admitted, looking back at the report. It did.

She’d figured out what Nick was doing soon enough. He needed her to look annoyed with him. Incompetent. Insignificant. He was playing the fellow predator, discriminated against, saddled with a bunny for a partner, given a case he couldn’t possibly succeed in, possibly turned into a scapegoat. It didn’t quite work that way.

Amadeus took one look at them, and started laughing.

At the time, she was busy playing (and figuring out) her part, but later she had a chance to wonder how much of Nick’s behavior was improvisation, and how much much was aiming for several angles and seeing which one worked best. In Amadeus’ case, he’d been used to dealing with officers much larger and more dangerous than him, with far shorter patiences. He saw an opportunity to insult them to his heart’s content, and took it.

And they let him. With a quiet, long-suffering dignity, they listened. They let him rag and brag, celebrate his own wit with more or less subtle digs at the ‘mascot brigade’. And they listened, with far more care than they showed. Besides, Nick had been the ZPD’s lone fox for close to two months now, and she had long stopped being the wide-eyed rookie from a year earlier. The digs about ‘real cops’ stung her more than she’d care to admit, probably stung them both, but in the end, they’d been both called far worse by far better mammals.

He never intended to answer their questions, so, they didn’t ask. They steered the conversation more subtly. Little prompts. Openings. An “accidental” slip of the tongue. And, oh, he loved to brag. Judy stared him in the eye while he ranted about his net worth vs. that of her entire extended family. It helped that she saw Nick casually taking careful notes, and that Amadeus’ estimate was actually off by a factor of five or so.

“You know, I loved that.” Nick remarked, reading over that exact part of the transcript. “He’s going on and on and you’re just winding him up with the ‘Sir…. Sir…’.”

“For your information, _sir_ , I was trying to calm him down.”

“Ouch.” Nick laughed. “Not with that tone, please, I beg of you.”

She grinned at him. He grinned back.

“No, I’m serious--” he started again, voice and expression sincere. “That was a really good job, you couldn’t even tell you were insulting him.”

“I wasn’t.” She lied. “I didn’t mean to.” She corrected, and it was only half a lie. It wouldn’t have worked if Amadeus had caught onto what she was thinking to keep her composure and sanity. Or that she was really fond of ‘ **s** leazebag **i** n **r** esidence’.

But it worked. It worked long enough. It worked for the nearly half hour before Howles opened the door, showing in Amadeus’ lawyer, a proud lioness in a well-cut suit. She had a graceful walk that was sure to draw stares, and a furious expression that’d send them running for cover. More important than that, though, was the the quick look Howles gave Judy and Nick. It was a vindictive, schadenfreude kind of look. Whatever he had wanted to do to Amadeus, watching him dig himself deeper and deeper was even more satisfying.

There was also something else to that look, and she didn’t quite notice it until she saw the small nod and tiniest flash of smile Nick gave her. They had enough. So it wasn’t so bad when the lawyer (Judy never caught her name. O’something?) was quick to shut Amadeus down when he next started talking. For a moment, he looked like a spoiled child told to put a toy down, but then quickly returned to that smug neutrality. Briefly.

Judy most definitely did not enjoy what came after. No, it was only… professional satisfaction at a job well done. She'd be a bad mammal if she actually enjoyed the way Amadeus’ expression turned to surprise, then horrified disbelief, only to settle on a seething, murderous glare.

It was also probably bad form to ‘actually…’ a lawyer, who Judy was sure was actually a decent person just doing her job, which just so happened to involve protecting terrible mammals for large sums of money. She also didn’t mean to question her competence - but when it came to the regulations concerning police work, Judy could quote them in her sleep (not _entirely_ a figure of speech). And they really weren’t asking questions - they were just quoting back what the record and the recording said he told them of his own will, give or take some context he didn’t realize they had. A lot of context.

They _had_ him. One or two things, maybe he could explain away without too much difficulty, but when he tried, he ran into _three_ other things it clashed with. They had proof - good, admissible proof - that at least some of his alibis were bogus. That he couldn’t be where he claimed to be. That he kept associations he’d claimed, proved not to. Names. Places. Photographs. Prices. They had things they’d only touched on, things that the investigators had been waiting to sink their teeth into, and now that he’d given them enough doubt for a probable cause, would.

It took over an hour. An hour of constant back-and-forth, of ‘you said’ - ‘I didn’t’ - ‘the record shows’. They didn’t get everything. They had to let go of a really promising angle involving some waterfront property, but they had enough. When they finally left that little room, with the brooding wolf and the irritated lioness, a dozen ZPD officers had been waiting. Judy couldn’t even name most of them. And even when they closed the door, she worried Amadeus or O’lioness heard the cheering and the congratulations. Spirits had been high… except, seemingly, for hers.

She was _tired_ , the adrenaline high having ran its course. It was like that moment when she, ha, outfoxed a fox, except so much better, with a year of experience on her side, not to mention said fox there to enjoy it and step in to help with a few choice facts or jabs. But it was also so much longer, and it left her feeling spent. And she still had a report to write. Bogo had insisted they write separate ones, for reasons she was too tired to figure out but would probably agree with. At least Nick got to help her once he was done with his.

And then, at long last, so was she. It was dark out. Amadeus had been escorted home, but everybody expected the arrest warrant to be only a matter of time. Scuttlebutt had it that the lawyer asked around for the nearest bar on her way out. The precinct buzzed with the sounds of the evening shift, different than the ones she was used to. A bored-looking moose sat in Clawhauser’s usual spot, leafing through a bodybuilding magazine, a headset over one of her ears. Outside, an ambulance had just turned on its siren. And all she could think of was the fact she was finally _done_.

“I don’t know about you,” Nick remarked, helping her get her desk into some semblance of order, “But I’m looking forward to calling it a night.”

“I’m with you there. Ow ow--” She winced, trying to kick some life back into her legs. The next wince was one of frustration, though. “The commute, not so much.”

Nick shook his head with a small chuckle. She had the impression he was about to say something, but changed his mind. “Look on the bright side, at least we get to sleep in for once.”

She paused, ears perking up. She, in fact, hadn’t considered it. She actually forgot, too busy thinking about the case. The idea of, just this once, not getting up while it was barely light out felt downright sinful. It was strange, and tempting, and… utterly impractical.

“What’s wrong?” Nick asked even before her exasperated groan. It must’ve been the way her ears drooped back down.

“My neighbors.” She practically whined aloud. A restful night was, apparently, too good to be true. “I live next door from these two--”

“Antelope brothers who argue -- loudly -- all the time.” Nick finished with an understanding smile. “You’ve mentioned. Also the thin walls. Somewhat repeatedly, really.”

Judy gave an embarrassed little huff, rubbing at her face. She felt wiped. She was already imagining being woken up by their newest argument. About… anything, really. Breakfast, maybe. Mutual friends. Hygiene supplies. _Anything_.

It took her a moment to even realize Nick said something. By the time she caught on, he had a smug smile on. “You really are out of it tonight, Carrots. Come on, night air ought do you some good.” He said, gesturing towards the exit.

“Planning on walking me to the station so I don’t fall asleep along the way?” She chuckled. It was a silly idea.

“What? No, what sort of friend would I be?” Nick answered, apparently genuinely surprised she’d suggest it. Well, it really was a silly idea, even if it’d be nice-- “You’re crashing on my couch tonight.”

“Hah!”

…

“Wait. You’re _serious_.”


	2. BACK GROUND

Nick had been, at the very least, right about one thing - the cool evening air _did_ help clear her head. It was a nice night out. The sky was clear enough, and the weather didn’t throw up anything the miracle of modern science that was Zootopia’s climate control system couldn’t handle. There was a mist above Rainforest District (but then, when wasn’t there), and a glow above Sahara Square. The breeze carried the scents of the bay (Well, some of them - the good ones, for once). A mammal with the right mindset might even call the night romantic.

Judy Hopps, who was 100% police bunny and hadn’t a romantic bone in her body, had to settle for thinking of it as “actually kinda nice.” Besides, a more pressing question sat upon her mind: Exactly why did she agree to this?

Eventually she realized, she hadn’t. She was letting herself be walked to the tram station, that was all. All she had to do was… turn the other way, and go back, because they passed it a minute ago.

So, no, she never _agreed_ to crash at Nick’s place. She just went along with it, and if he didn’t stop with the smug smile, she’d have to shove him. She settled for distracting him with conversation.

“Nick? When you said, ‘walking distance’, did you mean--?”

“Ten minutes.” Nick answered quickly. They were waiting for the light to change. Despite the hour, traffic was still a thing. “If you take the scenic route. Eight with a shortcut or two.”

“Oh, good. For a minute I was worried you meant--”

“Jogging distance?” He suggested, voice at least a little teasing. Judy winced at the reminder.

“It was half the city away! You can’t just run half the city to work and call it a jog!”

“Unless, apparently, your name is Cervantes?”

“Cervantes has freaky long legs! He's like, half giraffe! I'm knee high to him! _You’re_ knee high to him--!”

She realized she'd been gesturing wildly, and mammals were staring. Well, staring more than usual at a bunny and a fox in uniform. She huffed, and fixed Nick with a glare. The time she arrived at the station sweaty and out of breath (it sounded like a reasonable suggestion!) was the latest in his long line of subjects to tease her with. So far, she didn’t mind that much, and she felt she _did_ walk into that one.

Either way, he pretended not to notice the glare, and that the smug smile was entirely unrelated. Instead, he asked, “Scenic route, or shortcut?” She followed the motion of his arm. The former meant more of the street, with a small park further down to provide some variety, and evening crowds heading predominantly the other way throughout. The shortcut…

It actually took her a moment to realize just what he’d meant. First she thought it was the bistro, taking up the front of an office building, and she was even a bit interested until she saw the prices. Then she noticed the sign directing potential customers towards Shears’, a barbershop advertising special rates for wooly mammals. She cringed a little, not quite sure herself if it was at the name, or the misplaced apostrophe. Still, the arrow directed her sight to an unobtrusive little passage. On closer inspection, she realized it wasn’t a dead end, only meant to look like one. Rather, it opened into the back alleys behind the buildings. They seemed dark and uninviting, exactly the sort of place a smart little bunny shouldn’t follow a sly predator into.

So, of course, she turned and headed that way with a smile.

She wasn’t exactly a stranger to back alleys. A mammal could go their entire life and not have to see them, but a cop wasn’t so lucky. She’d seen her share, and she certainly saw enough to form an opinion. “Cleaner than I expected.”

“City center. Wouldn’t want to scare off potential customers.” Nick remarked, tone a bit teasing. It _was_ clean though. The trash bins looked new enough, there wasn’t too much loose junk laying around, and the air smelled of soap moreso than anything more questionable. A tiny truck parked by the back entrance to a hotel resembled the meter maid’s old jokemobile, scaled up (not by much) and given an almost comically oversized boxy back. A few of the buildings even bothered to look at least half as nice as from the front.

It was deserted, too. A few uniformed mammals having a quiet smoke and chat by a back entrance, somebody taking out the trash, a lone antelope heading the other direction, hands in pockets, hood pulled down low over their eyes with the horns sticking out… it was barely anything compared to the the crowds on the sidewalks. Nick wasn’t saying anything, and had that cheerfully neutral expression of his. He walked with his hands behind his back and an effortless, casual step that somehow clashed with his uniform. The silence suited her fine, and she soon found her mind wandering. From the day’s events, to Amadeus, to Nick’s suggestion. The commute, her parents, and so on, until she was interrupted.

“Evenin’, officers.”

Distracted, she didn’t notice the stocky badger standing behind the small truck. He’d been loading it with bundle after bundle of laundry, but paused briefly to tip his cap as they came into view, only to resume his work.

“Evening, Tony.” Nick didn’t seem nearly as surprised as she was. She didn’t have to look to guess he had that friendly small smile of his. It was in his voice. “How’s things?”

“Mustn’t grumble, mustn’t grumble.” Tony answered, working away. He didn’t pause again until they were passing him. He’d lifted up his hat and said “You two have a good night now, mm?”, then got back to work.

Nick had said something to the tune of ‘you too’. Maybe a ‘good night’. Judy hadn’t paid attention, pointedly looking ahead. She’d looked at the badger’s face, and wished she hadn’t.

“He gets that a lot.” Nick remarked a short while later and a fair distance away, sounding amused.

“Sorry?”

“He just has one of those faces. The kind you really wouldn’t want to see in a dark alley.” He continued. Judy bit her lip and very pointedly said nothing. Her ears, previously up in alarm, now hung shamefully low. She tried not to be prejudiced, she really did. She wasn’t proud of assuming the worst. Nick pretended(..?) not to notice. “He used to be really in demand, you know. Bouncer, hired muscle, that sort of thing.”

“Used to..? What happened?” She asked, curiosity overcoming embarrassment.

“Oh, you know… found a girl, straightened out his life. Found a job, stopped hanging out with the wrong kind of mammal. Girl moved on, he stuck to it.”

“That’s… really nice, actually.” Judy found herself smiling, reminded of that feeling when she met her old bully after all those years. Then she paused, and gave Nick a suspicious look. “Do I want to know just how you know him?”

“ _Do_ I know him?” Nick deflected, a bit playfully. “It’s more that I know about him. Tony was one of those mammals you’d keep track of.” He paused. “In part so you knew they weren’t looking for you.” And again, but this time, he took on a more joking tone. “Oh, and he married a friend of mine. I think they’ve got a cub on the way.”

Judy chuckled, shaking her head and following the hopeless jokester of a fox out of the alleys and onto another street. This one was narrower but also had considerably less traffic, pedestrian and motorized alike. The buildings on the other side looked like apartments.

“Sometimes I wonder how many of your friends I'd get in trouble for knowing.” Judy tried to say. Three words in, she was interrupted by the cacophonous noise of an engine. An older-model sports car zoomed past, just barely under the speed limit, catching the tail end of a yellow light and disappearing into another street. Only the sound remained.

“There should be a law.” Nick muttered under his breath, glaring after the car. But then, so was nearly everybody else.

…including Judy, who had been actually clutching her ears. “There’s a regulation. And I think somebody’s overdue for a noise level inspection. You got his plates?” She caught his nod out of the corner of her eye. They both had - after a while, it was like second nature. She crossed her arms, smirking. “Doesn’t Flash still owe you a favor?”

He paused, then his mind put two and two together. A look of horror flashed on his face. “That’s cruel and unusual, fluff.”

She laughed. It was only the tiniest bit evil-sounding. “No, cruel and unusual is having to hear that with these.” She said, tugging on her ears.

It was Nick’s turn to laugh. “Okay, okay, good point. Now, unless you want the long way, right this way…”

She had been right, it was a residential area. Several apartment blocks surrounded a sizable area that was meant to be a park on one set of plans and a parking lot on another, and nobody realized until it was too late. The result was a haphazard mixture of concrete and greenery, grass and asphalt, parked cars and blooming trees pointedly avoiding each other. There’d been attempts made to fix it one way or the other, but every time, the locals would rally to protect what they called Mitchell Park.

...at least, that was Nick’s explanation as they crossed it. Judy wasn’t sure if she believed him, but she couldn’t deny the place had a quirky kind of charm about it. Mammals (disproportionately often predators, she noticed, nearly half and half) certainly weren’t shy about spending their evening there. Kids were chasing each other. Teens were hanging out on the green. A young, scruffy looking wolf was amusing a small audience by using some upturned plastic paint buckets as a drums set. Judy’s eyes were drawn to a group sitting on cheap chairs by some folding tables near a parked food truck. Actually, no, not her eyes; it might have been her nose.

“You hungry?” She heard Nick ask.

“No.” She said quickly. Her stomach disagreed noisily.

“You sure?” He had that mischievous grin again. “Tig does some great puffed cricket...”

She might have winced. “Definitely not hungry for cricket, thanks--”

“That’s great, neither am I. Heey, Tig!”

She realized he managed to distract her enough to steer them towards the truck, and that was the story she’d stick with. The smell didn’t have anything to do with it. It wasn’t even a terribly delicious smell, it was more heavy and… interesting. That was it. It was interesting. The little crowd at the tables didn’t pay them much heed. The owner, a bored-looking pangolin no bigger than Nick was, looked up from browsing a worn copy of the day’s paper. He brightened up instantly.

“It’s the fox cop! Welcome, welcome!” He called out, and Judy actually paused, surprised. It wasn’t the accent she couldn’t quite place, it was the way he said ‘fox cop’. She’d heard the words spat out like a curse, chuckled out like the punchline of a joke, or just mocked in derision. She wasn’t used to hearing them spoken with genuine respect. Tig rapidly tapped his claws on the countertop in front of him, turning to look at her. He brightened up even further. “And you brought Carrots!” He paused there, as if uncertain. “Or is that Flopsy? Hoppity, maybe?”

Judy glanced at Nick, even if her intended glare ended up being more of a confused look. He had an amused expression, much like back during her brief (aheh) run-in with the DMV. This time, though, there was also something else. A dash of sympathy. Understanding. Apology, even.

Tig chittered to himself, holding up his hands. “I kid, I kid. Hello, hello, it is so nice to finally meet you. Your friend here, he talks about you all the time.” He reached forward, over the counter, with a hand armed with large, curved claws. And Judy wondered if it was a good or worrying thing that she paid the claws less thought than the convenient step that let her reach up and shake his hand. She smiled, and Tig beamed back.

(Pangolins didn't smile. Everybody knew that, just like everybody knew bunnies were cute and harmless and that you shouldn't trust a fox. Up close, face to snout with one, Judy realized it was more that they _couldn't_ smile - their mouths didn't quite work that way. But, oh, Tig didn't let that stop him. He _showed_ his good mood, practically vibrated with it. It was in the quiet shuffling sounds of scale against scale, the little tongue flicks between words, the quick bursts of his claws clicking against the countertop or each other. She really couldn't help but smile.)

“What will it be, officers?” Tig asked, folding his arms, leaning out. “Maybe some locust? Got some fresh stock, good for your teeth.”

“Maybe another time.” Nick answered, all smiles and casual leaning on the counter. “Say, what's in the veggie special today? Actually, no, I don’t want to know, just get us a double. You mind rice? Hold the rice.”

The last question was directed at Judy, who was distracted by wondering just much that bit of banter seemed a private, practiced little joke between them. It didn't feel like they were putting on a show for her benefit, or to make fun of her for that matter. After all, she knew Nick, she knew what he was like, and she knew that he didn't use somebody's actual name lightly.

Neither, apparently, did Tig. As soon as he said “By the way, Nick?”, he’d gotten the fox’s full attention, with something just a touch more serious under his smile, maybe even a hint of concern. Tig had two styrofoam containers arranged on his arm, and was leaning towards the two of them as he arranged fresh veggies. He'd dropped his voice low and glanced warily at Judy. Nick had to nod before he'd continue. “Heard a guy was asking around for you.”

“What… kind of guy?” Nick asked, with some hesitation. Judy instantly thought of Tony, who was exactly the kind of guy you didn’t want asking about you.

“Don't know.” Tig shrugged with a frown (or rather, an unusual stillness, which was just as expressive). “Only heard about a small, funny-looking guy.”

Nick blinked. He had an expression of recognition. “Funny-... was it a meerkat?”

“Could be.” Another shrug.

“If one shows up, tell him where to find me, okay? Guy I know.”

Tig nodded, and his demeanor returned to normal as if nothing happened. Judy glanced at Nick with some concern, and made a mental note to ask about it later. ‘A guy Nick knew’ could have described half the city.

Thankfully, she didn't get to dwell on it long. Tig had removed the lid on a pot in which something had been simmering, revealing the source of the… aroma was too weak a word. It was definitely a Smell, albeit a fairly pleasant one. It wafted lazily through the air, rich and heavy. She could smell carrots. Actually, she could probably smell every vegetable she could name. Maybe even some she couldn’t.

She realized she'd been leaning forward, and straightened up.

Tig spent a few moments carefully stirring, before ladling each a generous serving. A few practiced moves later and the takeout containers were closed and waiting in a bag, set down in front of Nick with a meaningful look. “There we go. Two specials.”

Nick… to Judy’s horror, Nick began a well-practiced routine of patting himself down. As if searching for the wallet she knew exactly where he had.

“Aw shoot, could you put--”

“I'll get it.” She said quickly, pulling her own wallet out. “It's only proper, you letting me crash and all.” She said and smiled, maybe a bit smugly. Nick rolled his eyes, while Tig put a hand over his snout, a symbolic gesture entirely useless at actually hiding his amusement. It must not have been the first time Nick tried to pull that stunt, and it made it all the more satisfying to shut down.

“I’m on to you, mister.” She told him after they left, Tig waving after them with a full-body smile.

“I have no idea whatever you could possibly mean, officer.” Nick recited, visibly barely stopping himself from grinning.

“I won’t have you hustling honest mammals out of their hard-earned money on my watch!” She insisted, knowing full well how over-the-top it sounded and fighting back a laugh. She couldn’t help it. Perfectly reasonable arguments tended to melt when faced with the reality of Nicholas P. Wilde.

(And maybe there was a part of her that cried out in protest, some remnant of the rookie cop Judy from a year ago, who hadn't yet learned the difference between keeping the peace and enforcing the law. A part that would have arrested Nick on general principle, rather than convince herself that it was probably a joke, that he wouldn't try and pull it on somebody he knew, not in front of her. Maybe she should have worried, but she trusted him. Maybe she should have worried about _that_ instead.)

Nick was smiling. It was one of his smug smiles, the one he put on when waiting for the other shoe to drop, when he already had a perp (or a mark) where he wanted them, and was just waiting for them to realize it--

“Oh.” Said Judy. She had offered to pay without even thinking about it, hadn’t she.. She should have been mad. She definitely shouldn't have been smiling. “So that was your master plan, mister Wilde? Invite me over so you don't have to pay for dinner?” She teased.

And to her surprise, Nick blinked, mouth hanging open briefly.. “Oh man, I should have thought of that.”

”Thought of what?”

“Going somewhere where I don't already eat for free. We’ll make a con artist out of you yet, Carrots.” He looked actually proud.

Judy paused, brow furrowing. “Nick, if I find out you’ve been conning that poor--”

“What-- no! His idea!” Nick went defensive briefly, as if he thought she might take a swing at him . “I did him a solid so he said I eat on the house until he changes his mind, honest!”

Judy gave him a wary look. She had some experience reading his body language, possibly was even something of an expert on the matter. He seemed genuine, so she let the subject drop.

He didn't, though. “I'll have you know I'm a fox of my word, the rare times I actually give it. And I don't scam my friends.” He paused, then followed her glance to the food he was carrying. “Often.”

“Often.” She repeated, more amused than she ought be. But the mention of friends reminded her in a roundabout way. “Oh! Tig mentioned a guy you said you know?”

“Yeah, that’d be--” Nick began, paused, then smirked, giving her an expectant look. “Tim.”

“Tim.” She repeated, a bit dubious.

“Tim.” He insisted.

“As in, Timothy?”

“Ah, no, actually, he hates when you call him that. Just Tim.”

“So you’re not actually making up a third short t-name in one evening just to try and confuse a _rabbit_?” She asked with a sly smile.

Nick opened his mouth, finger raised, and paused. He closed it after a moment. “Okay, yeah, not that smart in retrospect.” He paused for a moment more. “But no, he actually _is_ called Tim.”

Judy chuckled. “So who’s he?”

“Ehhh…” Nick trailed off, looking away.

“Guy you used to run cons with?” She guessed, trying to sound helpful. Nick eventually gave a small nod, so she continued. “Meerkat… He was the lookout?”

To her surprise, Nick actually laughed. “Hah, no! You'd think so, but no! Worst lookout ever.”

“...how so?”

“Look--” He made a vague gesture with his free arm. “Tig hasn’t seen the guy, doesn’t even know his species, but he still knows…?”

Judy thought for a moment. “He’s funny?”

“Bingo. Tim gets bored, Tim starts talking at the first mammal he sees. And the crazy thing is, it works!” Judy must have looked dubious, because Nick gave an earnest smile, nodded, and continued. “He's genuinely amusing - or at least engaging - enough that you end up listening and wondering, what's he going on about? Is he trying to sell you something? Turns out, nope, he's leading up to a punchline. And maybe you laugh, or you groan, or maybe it doesn’t do anything for you, but that's okay! Stick around, he'll have three more coming.”

Judy chuckled. She knew the type, the constant jokesters. She had a sibling like that. She had _several_. Constantly getting themselves (and, less unintentionally, each other) in trouble. Tireless. Infuriating. Ultimately, endearing. She could understand why Nick had a small smile as he talked. Well, slightly more of one than usual, at least.

But it did remind her. “So, not really lookout material.” She teased, smirking. “What, then?”

Nick paused. “...I’m not sure I should be discussing this with you, _officer_.”

Judy spent a moment worried she’d pushed too far, but no. His tone was teasing, and he was grinning. But then, so was she. “Come on, Nick.” She teased right back, giving him a playful shove.

“Okay, okay!” He chuckled. “Sometimes you just need a distraction, or a roper--”

“Roper?” She interrupted, curious.

“That’s, ah, somebody who gets attention. ‘Rope them in’, you know? Get the m-- somebody hooked, get them interested, that’s half the trouble, then…” He trailed off, looking away. It didn’t seem like a topic he wanted to talk about with a cop if he could help it. Or maybe just not with her. She didn’t want to press the issue.

She meant to change the subject. Ask what he thought, why Tim might have wanted to talk with him. The cop in her suggested he might have been hoping to recruit him for some scam. The Judy in her was worried he was in some sort of trouble and had no-one else to turn to. But what actually came out of her mouth ended up sounding more like, “Any idea wh-HEY!!!”

The lamb may have been fifteen, tops. She looked over, saw two cops turning a corner, and bolted. She hit her top speed before the spray can even hit the ground. Judy gave chase, but with her headstart, the youth disappeared into a side alley before she could reach her.

“No use;” Nick commented annoyedly, walking up. “There’s a dozen ways out of here.”

Judy stood there, fuming. She should have been faster. She should have at least paid attention to the lamb’s face. She balled her fists and had to stop her foot from tapping. She managed, but mostly through directing her frustrations in a different direction.

“She even had a stencil!” She complained, grabbing the can and the piece of cut-up, sprayed-over card. She started gesturing with them as she stomped onwards, Nick trailing somewhat behind. “Look, it still has the filename at the bottom!”

She stopped suddenly to look (glare) at a dark mark on the wall.  It had to be one of the lamb’s earlier works. The paintwork was sloppy, and dark streaks had formed before the thing finished drying. She recognized the stylized ram’s head anyway.

“Great, and it’s a new design, too!”

“Mm.” Agreed Nick, catching up. “The eyes are a nice touch.” He added with a sarcastic deadpan just in time for her to storm off again.

“Well of course they’re question marks, they don’t know how he looks!” She complained on. The less angry, more analytical part of her mind had to agree though, using them for the eyes _was_ a nice touch. It gave the whole design an ancient, reverential feel, and when your name was Doug _Ramses_ , some references were to be expected.

“Mm.”

“And they’re popping up everywhere now! It used to be maybe or two but now, everywhere you look--!”

“Er, Carrots?”

“And it’s not like I can blame them!” Not that it stopped her. She took issue with criminals who shot mammals with neurotoxin pellets, then disappeared without a trace.

“Whiskers?”

“And who else are they supposed to look up to? Bellwether? Please. The half-dozen cops she got on her side?” She could sympathize, really. Bunnies had a certain _reputation_ or two but that didn’t mean she was anywhere near happy to see sheep become mistrusted as a group, just because one of them went with her herd instincts and primarily recruited her own species into her schemes. “So now they’re preaching the return of a criminal like he’s some--”

“Judy!” Nick called after her.

She wheeled around and glared. He’d stopped a fair bit back, and had his thumb pointed over one shoulder, indicating the building behind him.

“...oh. Right!” Judy mumbled and padded over, ears low. This wasn’t the first time she went on that particular rant, and she wasn’t the only one to do so. Bogo’s glare had been particularly unforgettable. The poor piece of paper almost combusted.

She shook her head and finally turned her attention to the building proper. It was a brownstone apartment block, in a vaguely art deco style. It was probably as old as Zootopia itself. A flight of stairs led up to the entrance, flanked by statues of two lions. They were lounging seductively, because of course. Judy had to suppress a snicker. A quick glance told her Nick had a knowing smirk on.

Her gaze was drawn upwards, past the intricate collection of windows of various sizes. The architect obviously had something in mind when arranging the individual apartments; some intricate design, but she couldn’t quite figure out what it was supposed to be. A mouse’s head, extremely stylized? Judy mentally shrugged. She had a more practical concern on her mind.

“Are the staircases as bad as I think?”

“Worse.” Nick answered with a small grin. Then he paused. “Also, wrong stairs.”

“What?” She asked, already heading for the lions. She followed Nick’s gesture to a second set of stairs, lacking in scandalous statuary and leading down, to a single door. A door he was currently walking down towards, fishing a set of keys out of his pocket.

“Nick… do you live in a basement?”

“Never said I didn’t.” He answered with a smile. The keys jangled and the locks clicked.

“.... _why_?”

“Well, bit of a funny story involving a greedy landlord quite a few years back, but it amounts to this: Money.” He pushed the door open and followed the motion with an inviting sweep of his arm. Judy went down the steps, a bit warily, and not only because they were built for someone a bit taller than either of them.

“What happened to ‘two hundred bucks a day since I was twelve’?”

“Ah well… another funny story.” He shrugged, but this time his smile seemed a little less sincere. Something about the ears. He gave up on waiting for her and walked in himself. “Turns out, money you can’t prove you’ve earned is great for tax purposes, but for buying some bigger stuff? Not so much. You’ll notice I don’t own a car.”

“Finnick owns a car.” She said automatically, finally following him in. The interior was unsurprisingly dark, but it didn’t seem to bother him. She stayed in the pool of streetlight near the entrance. She realized she was probably treading on dangerous ground, but she had to ask. “It’s not… stolen, is it?”

“What? No! No. One hundred percent legally purchased. _And_ it’s a car.”

Judy knew Nick enough to understand that sometimes, getting the truth out of him was a matter of connecting the dots. “Was it a car _when_ it was purchased?” And sometimes, a matter of discretion. “Don’t answer that.”

She’d swear she saw him grin in the dark, Then he turned on a lamp, and she knew it for a fact. A soft light filled the basement. It was…

Judy realized she didn’t have an idea what she expected from Nick’s apartment. In her head, it was one part the interior of Finnick’s van, one part the bridge and abandoned warehouse she found him by, but also one part her own cheap rental, and one part her room back at the Burrows. And this place fit neither of those.

It was, ultimately, a basement that somebody had adapted for living in. They started by getting rid of some walls so that the whole place was one large room with a few strategically placed thick pillars. The walls, floor, and ceiling were bare concrete, which explained the several woven rugs strewn around the place, and maybe even the ones hung on the walls for decoration in what she had come to think of as Tundratown style. The windows were small and placed high, probably useless for illumination even during the day, which would explain the fluorescents lining the ceiling. They were the cheap kind, the kind that would buzz and flicker their way through a race between hurting your eyes or your ears first, so she couldn’t blame Nick for instead having several floor lamps strategically scattered about. He had just turned on another one, looking amused and maybe a bit proud. “So what do you think?”

“It’s very…” she began, pausing to think. Cozy? Odd? Unexpected? Roomy? Closing the door behind herself gave her enough time to settle on “...you.”

Nick chuckled, apparently satisfied with her answer. She wasn’t, though. “Seriously though, Nick-- a basement?”

He shrugged with a smile.”It’s a step up from my old place.”

“Don’t you mean, step _down_?”

“Oh ha ha _ha_ no, actually. That was _also_ a basement, except a third smaller and crisscrossed with pipes.” He sounded a bit sour. “That leaked whenever it rained.”

Judy paused, and tried to remember the last time it rained. Really rained, not the little controlled drizzles every so often. “That doesn’t sound too--”

“It was in Rainforest.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Drip buckets everywhere.” He chuckled humorlessly, then made a sweeping, inviting gesture to the table where the takeout containers were waiting. Then he paused, and patted the back of one of the chairs, or rather, the clothes loosely thrown over it. “Mind if I change first?”

“Go ahead!” She said quickly, wheeling around to give him some privacy, moving her attention to the part of the room not containing a fox changing out of his uniform. There was a couch there, a sizable brown thing that reminded her of one that her parents had for a few years, if a fair bit larger. It looked soft and inviting. There was another lamp next to it, its base buried under a pile of magazines and books. (She thought she spotted her spare copy of Laws & Ordinances there. She had been wondering where that went.) The couch, contrary to her expectations, didn’t face a TV, largely because there wasn’t one. There was the sort of cabinet she’d expect to hold one, but instead, the view from the couch was of a wall covered by a collection of postcards arranged around a large map of the city, which... seemed terribly familiar, actually. And then, with a gasp, she recognized it.

“Mn?” A muffled voice asked somewhere behind her as she dashed forward, turning the lamp on as she went.

“Is- this is the 0250 City Fair map, isn’t it? The limited edition!” She gasped, barely containing her excitement. She glanced back, saw a flash of fox red, and hastily put it from her mind. “It is! I’ve always wanted one of those!” She chuckled and flattened her ears back down, feeling a touch embarrassed. “Of course, we wouldn’t have had the room for it and by the time I convinced my parents they were all gone but--” She paused, risked another glance back, and turned once she was sure Nick was decent again. “Where’d you get this?”

Nick, back to his usual pants and unfashionable green shirt, chuckled. “Gift from... a friend. My twentieth birthday, actually.”

Judy whistled. “You must’ve had good friends…” She began, then cut off.

“Mm.” Nick agreed non-committally, looking away. She almost missed it entirely. Her attention was on the map. It had been vandalized. She bit back a sound of outrage and disappointment long enough to realize it wasn’t nearly as bad as she thought. The pins holding notes to it were magnetic, and what she initially thought to be marker scribbles were… well they _were_ marker, but marker applied with great care, using a ruler and all. The fact was, the map was thirteen years old, but somebody put in the time and effort to keep it current. New city blocks, even an entire district had been carefully drawn on and dated. Here and there a building had been crossed out. This wasn’t just the map she always wanted. This was _better_.

She turned around and smiled at Nick, just in time to catch sight of him yawning. She caught the yawn, too.

“Come on, fluff.” He teased, pulling back a chair. “Let’s get some food in you before you fall over.”

* * *

 

The food was… she wasn’t sure what to think of it. So she took another bite. Tig’s cooking tasted much like it smelled: rich and flavorful, made from a mix of vegetables she couldn’t begin to identify. Plus, hers came with a side of boiled carrots (not her favorite kind but still one of the good ones, and definitely far better than what her microwave could manage) and a... a _thing_ made from boiled leaves that she wasn’t exactly sold on, but also wouldn’t mind giving another try.

“What is this, anyway?” She asked after taking care of the worst of her hunger, by which point she was halfway through.

“Tig’s mystery veggie special for today.” Nick answered matter-of-factly.

“Yes, but _what’s_ in it?”

“...are you _sure_ you want to know?”

She paused. “Well, if I wasn’t, I sure am now!”

“Well… mostly, it’s made from yesterday’s mystery veggie special.”

Judy had a sudden premonition of where this was going. “And that’s made out of…?”

“The mystery veggie special from the day before.” Nick nodded.

Judy put a hand over her face. “I’m going to regret following this train of thought, aren’t I?”

“Not at all.” He chuckled. “It’s a, what’s the word… perpetual stew? He just keeps adding new ingredients in whenever he feels they’re called for. End result? Delicious stew.” He held up a spoonful, and made a point of slurping it nosily and following it up with a loud ‘mmmMMmmmm’. He even rubbed his belly. Judy had to hide a grin behind her hand. She eyed the stew warily for a moment, then kept right on eating.

“So what’s his story?” She asked a few minutes later, scraping out the last few dregs of the stew.

“Mn?” Nick looked up at her, his mouth full.

“Tig’s, I mean. What’s a pangolin doing cooking in Zootopia?”

“Mnh-.” Nick began, swallowed, and started again. “Right.” He set his spoon down and leant on the edge of the table. “Stop me if you’ve heard this one before: A mammal decides, hey, look at me, everybody! I’m going to do something nobody of my species has ever done! So they set out for Zootopia, where--”

“--They run into a fox?” Judy suggested with a knowing, warm smile.

“...no, actually!” He chuckled a bit, needing a moment to get back on track. He’d quickly abandoned his lean for the lively gesturing she’d come to associate with his storytelling. “I didn’t run into him until he was already set up. Plus…” He trailed off, as if to ponder wording. Judy noticed that he was unconsciously mimicking Tig’s claw-tapping. And that so was she. She quickly balled her hand. Nick continued. “Plus, I think he was getting away from some trouble at home. Might have been an arranged marriage but that sounds more like what the rumor mill would come up with. More likely, his folks being unhappy with his choice of profession.”

“...What’s wrong with being a cook?”

“How should I put this… they’re _pangolins_.”

Judy stared at him in confusion. Then her mind connected the dots and her expression turned to revelation with a dash of horror. “They don’t-- they _can’t_ \--”

Nick nodded. “Strict insectarians.” He said. Judy sat dumbstruck for a moment.

“How... how does he taste his own cooking?”

“That’s the thing, he doesn’t. Has to work off smell and experience alone.”

“That’s…” She looked for the right word. “...amazing, really.”

“Mmm.” Nick agreed, finishing his own portion. They sat for a while like that, in content, food-induced silence, listening to the distant sounds of traffic. Judy was the one to speak up first.

“Hang on, you said Tig owes you a favor?” she asked, a bit suspicious. Nick nodded. “I thought it was for helping him set up but…”

“Much more recent.” Nick was slouched in his chair, arms slung over the backrest. “Remember when I took the day off?” He waited for her to nod. “Somebody had been spreading some… _nasty_ rumors and he asked if I’d look into it. You know, all official cop-like.”

“Did you find out who it was?” She asked, leaning forward with interest.

“Well, no.” His ears twitched downwards. “But I did make enough of a show of it that word got around it was a sting.”

She began to nod, then paused, expression turning to concern. “Wait, a _sting_ ? What kind of rumors _were_ these, Nick? ...Nick?!”

He’d gone quiet. He glanced up, then looked away again. But she wasn’t letting this one go, and she wanted him to know it.

“Look…” He began, lifting up a hand to rub at his neck. “The kind that attracts the wrong kind of attention.”

“Nick…” She insisted, trying for ‘threatening’ and ending up closer to ‘pleading’ than she intended. Still, it worked. Nick heaved a sigh, and looked her dead in the eye.

“That, if you know how to ask, he’ll put meat in your food. _Mammal_ meat.” He said.

Judy’s expression could have graced an illustrated dictionary, somewhere between ‘horror’ and ‘disgust’.

“I mean, it doesn’t even make sense,” he continued quickly, “It’s a perpetual stew, he can’t just add or remove ingredients on a whim, and--”

“Nick, that’s a _serious_ allegation.” She said evenly, ignoring his blatant attempt at changing the subject. “You-- he should have reported it, we’d have gotten the--”

“Oh yeah?” Nick interrupted, sounding a bit agitated. “And how long would have the investigation shut him down for? And even after that’s done, how many potential customers will go, you know, they investigated them there rumors, maybe there’s something to them? And how many--” He sighed heavily and rubbed at his eyes. “Sorry. Bit of a sore spot.”

Judy tried to keep her expression neutral but could only manage ‘unconvinced’. She was willing to at least listen him out. He had earned that much.

“Look…” He said, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “There’s some things where it really is more trouble than it’s worth to involve the ZPD, okay?”

“Nick…” She trailed off. “This really is a serious thing - I mean, selling _meat_?” She couldn’t even say it without gagging a little. Poultry was bad enough. Imitation meat came with its entire set of, frankly, prohibitively restrictive regulations. Real, mammal meat… Setting aside the inherent sanitary nightmare, there was only one way to get the required… supply. Judy swallowed, not without difficulty. “We’d know-- there’s no way…” She trailed off, finding it hard to even find the words.

“Sure, not any more--” Nick replied automatically, then froze with an expression of mounting horror.

“Nick...” Judy began. This didn’t seem like him just being being difficult, but something he genuinely didn’t want to say. Something important.

“No.” He said quickly, holding his hands up. “No, no no no! _No_. I’m not having this conversation. Not tonight.” She opened her mouth to protest, but didn’t get the chance. “Sorry, but no. I just know I’m going to say too much and next thing I know you’re-- _we’re_ racing off after decade old leads at--” He angled his phone up. “--Holy Nuts It’s Late PM.”

“But--!”

“Judy, _no_ . This is ancient history. Everybody involved is long gone - and I don’t mean in the ‘got away with it’ way, either.” He sighed, pausing to touch his temples. “Look, it wouldn’t happen again. Not with this ZPD. Not with Bogo, not with, well, _you_.” He hesitated, then added, “Or me, I guess.”

Judy… Judy _wanted_ to be angry. She _should_ have been angry, rather than merely annoyed. At the poor attempt at flattery if nothing else. She also wanted to… well, to do exactly what he said. Race off into the night, find out exactly what he knew, get to the bottom of it, bring those responsible to justice… and yet…

“Please?” He asked quietly, looking up at her. She shut her eyes, and sighed heavily.

“Okay. I won’t ask.” She forced herself to say. “But you’ll have to promise to tell me eventually.”

Nick’s mouth stayed open, but no words were coming out. The silence dragged out for a second or two, but it felt like an eternity. Finally, he swallowed and nodded. “Okay, yeah. I promise. I’ll tell you about it. Eventually.”

It didn’t even seem like one of his usual ‘eventually’s’, the kind that was suspiciously indistinguishable from a ‘never if I can help it’. This one sounded more like, well. A promise. A rare thing indeed. Judy nodded, and even smiled a little. She managed to put the matter from her mind. At least for now.

Instead, the rest of the evening - what was left of it - was spent in pleasant conversation. They talked about her commute and subjects more or less related, and the confusing naming scheme which led her to look for an apartment placed in perfect walking distance of the wrong precinct. She found out about a shortcut that’d take her to Troop St., saving her the layover at Olive, and told Nick that it wouldn’t work and why. They had a good laugh when they realized who was responsible for the bridge _still_ being renovated, and spent some time brainstorming ever more ridiculous ideas how to add “inconveniencing a police officer” onto Amadeus’ record.

Thoughts of Nick’s promise came back by the time she went to bed (figuratively speaking) but she wasn’t nearly as annoyed then. She lay on her back on the couch, watching the dark ceiling - Nick, she found out, had no trouble going through his evening routine with no light other what little came from the streetlights. She could hear him moving around the apartment. It was… nice.

She should have been uncomfortable. She was wearing a borrowed shirt (reaching down to her knees but otherwise smaller than she expected) and yesterday’s underwear (the alternative being too horrifying to consider). Her mouth was full of the taste of antibacterial mouthwash (a borrowed stopgap - she resolved to brush twice once she got to her apartment to make up for it) and the apartment smelled of fox. And yet… she was oddly content.

There was something else. Nick knew something terrible, or at least, knew something about something terrible. And he hid it for… how long? From her! But... he was going to tell her.

She’d been learning all she could about Zootopia since she was nine. But Nick? Nick had been living and breathing it since before she was even born. He knew the people. He knew the parts that didn’t find their way into the travel brochures and history books. And he promised-- promised! -- he would tell her.

She smiled, and closed her eyes. She wouldn’t open them again until well into the morning.


	3. TOURIST TRAP

Four days later, midday. An alley just off a popular parking lot, Downtown. A pair of dumpsters stands, side by side. There’s a fox digging around inside one of them, awkwardly balancing with one leg on the step, tail up in the air.

He backs out, gasping for air. He’s holding a handful of wallets and a rectangular, very pink thing. “Hm.” He remarks, turning them in his hands. “Happytown,” he adds, a bit distorted for the bright yellow plugs in his nostrils.

The fox in question is also wearing a duty uniform, with the sleeves rolled all the way up. He is Nicholas P. Wilde, ZPD’s first and so far only fox officer, and… this all probably makes rather little sense without some context.

* * *

  _Forty minutes earlier_.

“You know, call me crazy--”

“You’re crazy.” Judy interrupted without missing a beat. She took her eyes off the road to smirk at him, and Nick couldn’t help grinning back proudly.

“--but I’m actually thinking of voting for Lionheart.” He finished his earlier thought.

“Huh. Really?” Judy found the time to look at him briefly, sounding genuinely surprised. “Why?”

“I’m just saying, you have to respect a mammal who puts ‘I will put myself on house arrest’ in his campaign promises.”

“...Nick, he’s already _in prison_ . House arrest means he’d be _pardoning_ himself.” There was a short pause. “Well, not _actually_ pardoning, he’d have to--”

“Exactly!” Nick quickly interrupted, before she sidetracked herself _too_ badly. Not while she was driving. “I’m impressed by that level of twisting the truth around to suit your needs!”

Judy groaned and rolled her eyes, but he could see she was grinning. Not for the first time, he turned his attention back to the paper with a victorious smile.

Nicholas P. Wilde had a... _complicated_ relationship with routine. In his line of work-- in his usual line of work-- in his _former_ line of work, it was something to be avoided, lest mammals catch on. You could run the same con for a while, sure. Perfect it, even. But eventually somebody would figure it out. Folks would compare notes, and before long the ZPD would come around with Questions. Possibly even Inquiries. He’d seen it happen, and it was never pretty.

Perhaps because of that, routine became a luxury, something to be enjoyed when available. And so, he enjoyed taking his time to get ready for bed. He enjoyed the friendly, inside joke exchanges he had with Tig, or the Assorted Jennies, or his coworkers (when did he even last _have_ coworkers rather than “associates”, let alone ones he liked?). And, yes, he enjoyed going on patrol like this.

Judy, of course, drove. This was a setup which worked for both of them - because she wouldn’t want to be driven around, and because he couldn’t drive in the first place (which was not to say he didn’t know _how_ to drive, but that was a distinction he’d rather not have to discuss, especially with a cop, especially _especially_ with her). By process of elimination, he was left with the difficult task of looking good - a hard job, but somebody had to do it. In fact, he was so good at it that he somehow found the time to go through and summarize the day’s files. Or as the case may have been, the day’s paper.

“Still, Lionheart? He’s an egomaniac.” Judy piped up rather suddenly.

“Yeah, and he’s good at it. Besides, who--”

He stopped talking the instant an electronic chirp came from the radio, Clawhauser’s voice soon following. There was a brief exchange with Delgato, something about a fender bender on the other side of Downtown. Nothing they had to worry about.

“--who else would you rather have?” Nick continued as if the interruption never happened. “Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber for the rest of the term?” Judy opened her mouth to answer but he kept going. “Name one good thing those two did in office. Other than, you know, shout each other down and try and micromanage everybody caught in the crossfire. That, by the way, would be us.”

Judy winced briefly but otherwise kept her cool. “Okay then. Name one good thing Lionheart did.” She countered, taking advantage of a red light to look over. “Other than, you know, imprison a dozen mammals without trial and obstruct the ZPD’s investigation. That, by the way, would be us.” She mimicked his cadence almost perfectly, with a healthy dose of a mocking tone thrown in, but it was the playful, daring, eyes-lidded smile she gave him that made him grin.

He held up a hand, two fingers outstretched, then started counting. “One: Light’s turning green. Two--” He tried to continue, but he barely managed that much before the cruiser smoothly rolled forward.

“Two?” Judy prompted with a singsong voice and a smug little smile. The part of him that was disappointed at her not panicking and stomping down on the accelerator got a deserved ‘told you so’ from the part that was pleasantly impressed.

“Two, the Mammal Inclusion Initiative.”

She blinked. “...what’s that got to-- _oh_.” Her ears went bashfully down as she made the connection. He could still see that they were just a bit redder on the inside, and that she had a small smile she couldn’t quite hide. “Low blow, Mister Wilde. Low blow.”

“That’s _Officer_ Wilde, thank you.” He teased, as he was sure she expected him to.

(Because that too was the routine, another private joke. She wouldn’t let anyone call him Mister - not anymore, not in uniform - but when _she_ did it, it was a gentle reminder, a friendly ‘I knew you when’. And maybe, he liked to think, she even meant ‘and look at you now’.)

She rolled her eyes and shook her head but, and this was important, still smiling. Then she glanced at his paper, changing the subject. “Anything about Amadeus?”

“Not that I can see.” he answered, leafing through a few pages. There hadn’t been anything when he checked the first two times, either.

“Huh. You’d have thought… It’s been, what, four days?”

“Mm.” Nick nodded, then shrugged. “They’re waiting to see which way the wind blows. I’ve seen it before--”

The radio chirped again, demanding their attention. On the other end, Clawhauser rattled off a number - theirs this time.

“That’s us.” Judy said, snatching up the handset before he could even reach. Damn. “Officer Hopps, copy. What’s up, Benji?”

Nick crossed his arms and listened in on the exchange, in a huff about rabbits and their quick reflexes. He didn’t mean it one bit, but it was still probably the reason he missed the red flag his instincts wanted to put up. There had been a petty theft, okay, but why request their assistance in particular?

“Come on Nick, let’s find us a thief.” Judy said cheerily, signing off. He couldn’t help but catch her enthusiasm. He had a good feeling about this one.

* * *

“This was a bad idea.”

He said it moments after a minibus’ worth of tourists simultaneously turned to stare at him. He froze mid-step, and suddenly realized why Wolford, a cop with years of experience, would want their help on this one. The victims were all the way from scenic Podunk, Deerbrooke. In other words, they were all _bunnies_. And at least half of them were reaching for something discreetly (but not well enough) concealed.

What Nick knew about the denizens of Podunk could fit on the back of an index card or, more accurately, into a handful of punchlines. Still, he had a sneaking suspicion that they didn’t have, or trust, or _like_ foxes there. And yet, here he was, in uniform to boot. And while it’d no doubt be amusing to watch Judy arrest the lot for assault on an officer, he’d rather not first find himself on the receiving end of fox repellent way past its sell-by, or a homemade fox taser. He decided not to push his chances.

“Yyeaah, I’ll wait in the car.” He said, turning on his heel.

“Nick!” Judy called out, taking a step after him. He stopped, and gave her a tired look. He didn’t say anything, and didn’t really have to. She stood there, hand outstretched, ears low, nose twitching and mouth open as she tried to find the words. She glanced back at the crowd, at him, and back and forth a few times, her expression growing more annoyed each time. Thankfully, that annoyance didn’t seem to be directed at him. “Yeah. Okay.” She said finally, crossing her arms, foot tapping.

“You gonna be okay?” He asked, reaching towards her -- Should he? Instincts said yes -- putting his hand on her shoulder. He ignored the few gasps, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Managing this crowd on your own?”

She took a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah.” She repeated with a nod, forcing a smile. He returned both, gave her shoulder a small pat, and headed for the cruiser.

One of the braver tourists found his courage, calling out, “Yeah, and don’t come--!”

Nick, in his time, had met some mammals with truly impressive glares - Chief Bogo was definitely up there. But still, this was the first time he actually _heard_ one. It was in the sudden, terrified way the bunny stopped talking. He really couldn’t help the small smile. At least for a bit.

He got back to his seat, crossed his arms over the dashboard, and put his chin on them, watching as Judy started taking statements.That was the thing: Captain Carrots over there was in love with the city. Not the real one - she loved the Zootopia that was in her head, the idealized city she was promised, where everybody let go of old hatreds and preconceptions. She wasn’t the first one to end up with a harsh wake-up call. Courtesy of, well. Courtesy of him. And then...

And then she _got up_ , dusted herself off, and set out to change the world for the better, one mammal at a time. Starting with herself. And somewhere along the way she swept up one Nicholas P. Wilde, gave him a bit of hope, made him care once more, and…

Really, was it any surprise he’d fallen for her?

He groaned and buried his face under his arm. Nick was no stranger to falling in love. He’d tried-- he really tried, for once, _not_ to lose his head for someone first chance he got. He kept telling himself it was a bad idea. It worked… well, about as well as it ever did (it didn’t). And it seemed like a bad case, too - on a scale of ‘passing infatuation’ to ‘deep pining’... well, he’d already spent three months moping over dashed hopes, so the prospects weren’t too good on that front.

It didn’t help that it wasn’t like the previous times, but then, it _never_ was like the previous times. Sometimes it was simple physical attraction, a charming smile or the way somebody moved. Other times it may have been somebody’s voice, or a fascination with their mind, or something else entirely. Judy… Judy had her own vision of the world and it was beautiful and better and he wanted, _yearned_ to be part of it, no matter how unlikely it was. She was brave and bright and a little bit naive and--

And she was coming back.

Nick’s instincts kicked in. In the past, they let him talk his way out of trouble more times than he’d care to admit; now, they started by slowing down his bolting upright into a gentler (and less suspicious) straightening up. Then, they started analyzing the situation, starting with Judy’s body language. Ears up but not fully, eyes narrowed, bit of a scowl, even glaring at the notepad in her hand-- _ah_.

She opened the door and got into her seat before turning to ask him something, but she didn’t get the chance. Her eyes darted down to the fresh notepad he’d been offering her, then back up at him, expression confused. He waggled his eyebrows. Whatever she was about to say ended up being replaced by an amused huff as she snatched the notepad from his hand. Still without a word, she pulled up her legs, resting her knees on the steering wheel, and almost set to copying over her notes to the new one.

Almost.

Instead, she blinked, and closed the pad to look at the cover. “Showoff.” She mumbled, trying and failing to hide a grin - one of the few things she could never do. He lov- really liked that about her.

(She was right, too. Noticing that her favorite notepad was running out of blank pages and making sure there’d be a replacement in the glove compartment? That was just forward thinking. Going the extra mile and finally finding one that looked the same was pure showing off, though. So, of course, he had to do it.)

He opened his mouth to start a conversation but decided against it. One of her ears perked up regardless, so he gave her a dismissive wave and a smile, not wanting to distract her. Talking was nice, but work was work. Instead, he turned his attention to the group of bunnies ahead of them. Something bothered him about the image, and it took him a while to figure out what.

For a bunch who just had their belongings stolen, they didn’t look upset. With one notable exception, they looked… irritated, at worst. Mildly inconvenienced, as if the time they now had to waste was a bigger loss than whatever was taken.

“Hm.” He found himself noting. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Judy looking up from her copying, one long ear turning towards him. He gestured at the group. “What happened here, anyway?” He asked, figuring it was okay to distract her, since it was a work question, rather than idle conversation.

To his surprise, that little lift of her ears suggested she was thankful for the distraction. “Somebody went through their bags while they were away. With a knife. Driver didn’t see anybody suspicious.”

“Classy. What’s missing?” Nick looked over curiously.

She glanced through her notes. “I don’t have everything yet, but… a phone, a few IDs, and about a hundred, hundred twenty bucks.”

There was a small pause. “What, each?” Nick asked, confused. She shook her head. “Total? A hundred bucks from a group that size?” He continued, incredulous.

Judy shrugged. “Most of them had their wallets with them. Besides, they left most of their cash at the hotel.” She tapped her lip with her pen. (Of course, it was her ridiculous carrot pen recorder. Of course, he made sure there were refills in the glove compartment. Of course, at some point his mental emphasis moved from ‘ridiculous’ to ‘her’.) “Smart move, really.”

“Dear god.” Nick said, falling back into his chair with a look of utter shock. There was enough drama involved that Judy gave him a confused look. “Tourists… being responsible with their money? That’s terrible.” She groaned and rolled her eyes. He grinned at her. “How’s a dishonest mammal supposed to make a living?”

“Honestly?” She suggested in a deadpan. “Not by stealing from tourists?” She added. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Her ears began to droop and her eyes widened as she realized just how that sounded.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--”

“It’s fine.” He said warmly (and meant it). Sure, it hurt a little, but it was a fair point. These were exactly the kind of marks he’d--

The memory of a group of bunnies staring in fear and reaching for self-defense “tools” came back to him. Okay, maybe not _this_ exact group. He winced involuntarily.

“I don’t think you’re a thief--” Judy explained hurriedly -- she must have noticed.

“No, just a hustler.” He answered mechanically, forcing a smile. It was a small but important distinction - both aimed to separate mammals from their money, but at least he left them with something in the exchange - an overpriced snack, a valued but valueless knicknack, or maybe just pleasant memories. (Or a landmark. However, that was on a dare, and thus, didn’t count.)

“You _were_ a hustler.” She pointed out, sounding a bit forced.

“True.”

“You’re a cop now.”

“Really?” He blinked and looked down at himself. “Huh. I was wondering about the uniform.” He pinched his shirt as if checking if it was real and managed a small but sincere smile.

Judy gave a quiet chuckle, ears starting to perk back up. She finished copying her notes and moved onto double-checking them. After a moment, she cleared her throat. “So… tourists? Good hustling?”

Nick glanced over. It seemed like honest (if misguided) curiosity, and so, he went with the honest answer. “Some of the best, actually. Bright-eyed, overwhelmed, unfamiliar with the city? Perfect if you’re trying to sell some overpriced souvenirs or a bogus tour.”

Judy nodded. Then, her pen stopped and she looked at him, confused.. “Tour? As in, guided tour?” He nodded, smirking. “As in, show some mammals the landmarks and talk about the history?” He nodded again. She needed a moment before she could even formulate a coherent “...why?”

“Because it’s easy money.” He said with a shrug, then chuckled. “Decent pay to walk around for a few hours and say whatever, what’s the problem with that? You just have to make up something impressive sounding.”

She was staring at him in apparent disbelief, blinking, the corners of her mouth twitching up. He could almost hear her trying to wrap her mind around the mental image, trying not to laugh. That just wouldn’t do.

“Of course, the real trouble starts if you do _too_ good a job.” He continued, falling into that familiar ‘spinning the tale’ cadence. “Next thing you know, bam! You’re getting return customers and have to remember what you told them last time.”

Judy put a hand over her mouth to try and hide a snicker. “Did… did you have a little sign?”

Nick nodded somberly. “A stick, some plywood and a weasel with a spray can. Guy does great work for ten bucks an hour.” He glanced over. Judy had both her hands over her mouth now, just barely staying professional. So of course, he turned it up. He straightened, held up an imaginary sign and put on the first ridiculous accent he could think of as he started speaking. “Here, group, we have the monument to León de Ponce, erected after his return--”

Judy lost it.

“Okay, okay...” She managed out, one uncontrolled outburst of muffled laughter (and one encore -- he pretended to start up again at just the right time) later. She was holding her hands up, gasping for breath. Nick settled for a bit of a victorious, smug grin, and an even wider one after the amused glare it earned him.

“If you are _quite_ done--” She started with that professional, teasing tone he had come to like so much “--I have some statements to take, thank you.” She chuckled, and her expression softened. “I’ve procrastinated enough, I think. But… thanks.” She added, giving him a warm smile. “I needed that. And this.” She held up the new notepad as she got out. “I needed this too. So, thanks--” She paused, eyes falling on the old one, left in her seat. “Could you--?”

Nick counted his guesses off on his fingers. “Call it in, check the traffic cameras… call some pawn shops?” It was nice to have thought of this already.

She gave him a thumbs-up before returning to the group. It may have been his imagination, or wishful thinking, but he’d have sworn there was a little happy hop to her first few steps before Professional Judy took over. Some part of him noticed that she went up to the same bunny she’d been talking before her notepad ran out.

...or maybe “ran out”, he realized. If he could read body language (he liked to think he could), the rabbit (tan-grey coat, thinly built, short, one ear floppy) wasted absolutely no time in making a show of flirting with her -- to no effect, other than impressing his friends--

Nick blinked, turning to stare at one bunny in the group of hangers-on. God, that was a _terrible_ shirt. Utterly atrocious, and this coming from a mammal who owned several pretty bad ones. Wow. It was a vibrant red, sunset gradient to black, decorated with palm trees in a shade of tan that badly pretended to be gold and… and Nick suddenly realized he needed to get one just like it. It _demanded_ attention. So much so that nobody would actually bother remembering your face. Take it off, and no witness could give your description--

…

Rabbit, tall, pudgy, heavy-set even, deep-set tired-looking green eyes, grey coat. Left eartip darker. Nick knew those tricks, and it _still_ almost caught him. He really had to get himself a shirt like that -- just in case, of course. For the moment, he settled for looking at the rest of the group.

There was a rabbit in the back which easily drew his attention - sleek, thin, with very light, almost white fur, and darker markings on her long ears and around her eyes. Large, deep brown eyes. She was probably very pretty -- but only probably, partly because Nick didn’t exactly know what rabbits liked (she certainly had the kind of softly curved silhouette he’d find maddeningly attractive on a vixen), and partly because she looked utterly miserable. She was surrounded by a group of friends, and she still looked so distraught that Nick had to fight an urge to go over and try and cheer her up. No matter how terrible an idea it would be.

He quickly discarded that thought, only to come to a surprising realization. As he’d been mentally filing those bunnies away, they all seemed… unusually built. Too fat, or too slim or too tall. One or two would be normal, but literally all of them? It took him a while to realize why - he didn’t interact with many bunnies, since they prefered to stick to their own regions rather than flock to Zootopia. And so, his mental image of a bunny… well, it would have been Judy, wouldn’t it?

He gave a surprised ’Huh’ and leant forward. He hadn’t really thought about just how different from the average rabbit she looked - tall, but not the tallest, definitely not nearly as thin as some of them. She wasn’t fat, either, not like Mr. Atrocious Shirt over there; rather, she was all muscle, with powerful legs and wide hips and that perky little tuft of a tail--

Okay, so there may have been a bit of physical attraction involved after all. Nick promptly decided to quit staring and think about something else. Work, for example. Work was safe.

He called the theft in, filling in the new details. He also called Bleatley down in Records, suspecting he’d be only too happy to help with a case by going over the traffic records for any sign of their thief. And then, phone in one hand, notepad in the other, he sat and thought.

According to Judy’s notes, the phone (stolen from, at a guess, the inconsolable rabbit girl) was a LeftPaw FPN Platinum. The name… well, it told Nick nothing. He wasn’t a mobile phone type of mammal, even the one he had was a recent development. The name sounded expensive. And… familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

He spent a good few seconds with his hand over his eyes, digging through his memory, to no avail. He was great at remembering mammals, at faces and birthdays and voices and vices, but a random phone name? His memory had no index for that. The best he got was a headache. This clearly wasn’t working. He needed a change of scenery. And… there was that phone in his hand…

< Need some air. Gonna clear my head. Walk around. Maybe stumble over a clue! >

He hit ‘send’ and looked up at Judy, who had been patiently waiting for a few of the rabbits to quit arguing. She pulled out her phone, glanced at the screen, and gave him a thumbs-up without them even noticing. And since she was the one uniquely equipped to handle the tough part of dealing with the victims, it fell to him to solve the case. Easy.

Of course, he had nowhere to start. He let himself wander, body and mind alike. It was a nice day, with just enough cloud cover to make the otherwise harsh midday sun bearable. The Podunk bus had been parked in a fairly popular lot - quite a bit of foot traffic involved, but few mammals had reasons to go there. The driver said he hadn’t seen anybody suspicious, but that could have just meant somebody was sneaky enough. Still, Nick thought better of going to investigate the bus itself. The driver would surely be jumpy. Oh well, at least the camera coverage was good there, but that’d take time to go through.

Nick laced his hands behind his back and stared at nothing in particular, which happened to be an ad for last season’s sloth lingerie. Somebody pilfered a phone and a hundred bucks. The money was as good as gone, but the phone, they could maybe find that at least. But what could you do with a stolen phone? Use it was one possibility, and it was--

Nick blinked, his memory finally catching up. LeftPaw FPN. He hadn’t seen the name before, but he’s _heard_ it, and he recognized the voice. He closed his eyes, and after a moment, pictured its owner. A brown bear, in her early twenties, with a frankly infectious laugh… in a ZPD trainee outfit. The academy! She was in his class, and she had been excitedly talking about FPN’s release!

Well, that gave him a timeframe, at least. Two to eleven months, but still, fairly recent. So, even used, even stolen, it should fetch a decent price. Enough to, say, recoup taking a knife to somebody’s luggage and only coming away with a hundred bucks for the risk and effort.

Besides, he told himself, using it themselves was probably too risky. He thought back to Judy’s notes - the mentioned a pink case and dongles, which would be easy enough to get rid of, but there was also an “ _engraved?_ ”, suggesting something trickier to hide. Best have somebody else deal with it.

Stolen for sale, then, he figured. But where would one take a phone in this town? His eyes moved right over the door to a small alleyway store, the folding sign advertising cellphone repair and resale. This was far too close. You’d have to be an idiot to sell right next to where-

…

Nick turned and headed towards the store. You shouldn’t ever easily dismiss the possibility that the perp was, in fact, an idiot. The “storefront” was an open door covered in nailed down examples of merchandise - post cards, t-shirts, an inventive little collage of used prepaid phone cards-- oh, and a charming little “We reserve the right to refuse service” sign. It even had an orange border. A coincidence, surely. This was going to be fun.

Nick shrugged and walked in. The inside was predictably cramped, but at least it was well-lit. There was a counter in the opposite end, a few CCTV cameras near the ceiling, and more merchandise along the walls and in cabinets. Nothing a tourist would need, and everything they could be talked into wanting. Okay, some of the t-shirts had some interesting designs, ones he hadn’t seen in a dozen places before, and the print quality was above average, and--

Nick froze, and stared. From a black t-shirt, a ram with a question mark for an eye stared back. They put him on a t-shirt. Doug spent months terrorizing the city, turning innocent mammals into savage _animals_ and they put him _on a t-shirt_. He felt sickened. What would be next? ‘Bellwether Did Nothing Wrong’ pins? Or maybe-

“Sorry, can I help--” the place’s apparent proprietor started, coming out from behind a door. He was a younger ram, his dark wool stuffed into a black t-shirt, the printing showing a mess of tangled barbed wire that was probably meant to be the logo of some band. He’d been pushing down his headphones, and by Nick’s guess, fell silent, paralyzed by indecision, whether to react to the fox or to the cop.

Nick had, he figured, a few seconds at most to push him one way or the other. He didn’t even hesitate. “Nicholas Wilde, ZPD.” He recited with a neutral expression, presenting his badge. “I’d like to ask you a few questions ...”

Fifteen minutes later, he calmly walked out of the store, then spent a while getting his thoughts in order. Largely because the alternative was stumbling out and possibly doubling over. But no: from the top.

Fact one: The thief was not an idiot, or at least, not enough of one to sell a phone right next to the crime scene. He’d been shown the recently bought used phones, and none of them were a leftPaw. Or even from this year.

Fact two: The owner’s name was Greg. Greg was not a bad mammal. Greg didn’t have anything against foxes _in particular_ , but you didn’t trust foxes, so Greg didn’t. Greg also didn’t like cops solely because you didn’t like cops. This didn’t stop Greg from being perfectly polite to one, or both. Greg had no idea who Doug was, but the shirt sold, so Greg kept it in stock. Greg also seemed not to have a last name, and would sometimes refer to Greg in the Greg person. In the third person. It took some getting used to.

Fact three: Greg liked to talk shop. In fact, once he started, it was rather hard to get him to stop. He designed and printed his own t-shirts, and knew mobile phones inside and out. While at least one of those facts would prove very useful, extracting the needed information from the torrential stream of thought emanating from his mouth was something of a chore.

Fact four: He had been right! The LeftPaw FPN _did_ come only out four months ago, and was still only available in limited qualities, which meant that unless you were lucky or connected enough to get one legally, you should be prepared to pay through the nose for a secondhand one.

Fact five: Stolen? Sure, you could steal and sell a FPN, but among its list of features (which Greg spent three minutes listing and almost started on again) were several meant specifically to prevent it. Nick’s understanding of the subject ended reached as far as “doable if you have the tools and know-how to remove the security measures, and quickly”. Which was more than he started out with.

Fact six: Out of curiosity, how much would one go for, aftermarket? Well, that depends on the kind. Like, a Silver would be-- Oh? Oh wow, a Platinum? That’s a twelve, fifteen, easy.

Fact seven: Twelve to fifteen what? Bucks?

Fact eight: Hundred, of course.

...

Fact nine: Thank you citizen, you’ve been very helpful, I’ll be going now and not making undignified noises while in uniform.

Nick took a big, steady breath, managing to finally get his wits together. He prided himself on being level-headed and quick-thinking under pressure, but still had to work on the ‘eventually’ part of that. He envied Judy’s ability to _instantly_ do the right thing.

...he could use her help. He _wanted_ to just go back there there, take her away from those rabbits, fill her in and then… well, run off on a dubiously legal wild goose chase on no solid leads and a few crazy hunches. Because that’d work out well.

The worst part was that she’d probably go with it, if not jump at the opportunity, which was just another reason to keep that fantasy just that. Still, it put his mind on the right track, analyzing the facts as they stood. Somebody had stolen a ridiculously expensive phone and was probably looking to sell it-

No, stop. That wasn’t the whole story. Somebody had stolen a phone _and_ some IDs _and_ some, in comparison, pocket change. Somebody took the time, and going off Judy’s notes, wasn’t subtle about it. You didn’t cut your way into somebody’s luggage and expect it to stay undiscovered. But why? Why not just take the phone and get it sold while you still could?

Nick shut his eyes tighter and rubbed at his temples. This was getting him nowhere. One thing at a time, then. You had a stolen phone you wanted to sell. A stolen, _locked_ phone. Greg talked about many things, but he did mention that removing a phone’s security was tricky. Who could do it? Nick had never really looked into that before...

No, further back still. You had a stolen _anything_ , and you wanted to sell it. Nick was not a pickpocket, but he knew enough of them that he could guess what you did - you either had a buyer lined up, or you went to a fence. If it was a buyer… no, that didn’t make sense. The thief would have gone just for the phone and got out. Unless they were trying to lay a false trail…

He sighed. He was thinking in circles. He took a mental and literal step back, pressing his back up against a brick wall. A fence, then, maybe? Nick knew a few, knew _of_ quite a few more, and Zootopia probably had many more still. It wasn’t much, but it was a place to start. It felt like finding a corner piece, even if you weren’t sure it was the right puzzle.

But… you wouldn’t go to just any fence, would you? You’d want somebody who could unlock the phone. So, one of the better ones. Not anybody at the Night Market, that wouldn’t be open for another few hours. That still left too many options though - Alley Bubba’s, or one of the Happytown ones, or maybe somebody under Mr. Big’s thumb…

Okay, no, he wouldn’t go to Mr. Big. Not with something this expensive and this hot, not without preparation, and that ran into the--

Wait. Where would _he_ , Nick Wilde, go? Well, he wasn’t a pickpocket, so he had no way of knowing-- Well, no, he knew exactly where Nick Wilde would go. He’d go to Happytown, because he was a fox. Sure, the thief wasn’t a fox--

Probably wasn’t a fox--

 _Might have been_ a fox, and Nick had no way of knowing, and it wouldn’t change anything--

Well, it’d make him more likely to be “randomly” stopped and searched for looking suspicious, and a fox with a fifteen hundred dollar phone would look _very_ suspicious--

… _any_ mammal with a fifteen hundred dollar phone they can’t prove they own looks very suspicious… _especially_ if also they’re carrying bunny IDs and several wallets. Okay, maybe not the wallets, those are easy to get rid of, just find a nice secluded spot to take out the money and toss them in the nearest trashcan or dumpster--

Like, say, this very alley. And the dumpsters literally twenty steps away.

And sure, it was a stupid idea. He wouldn’t find anything, and it wouldn’t prove anything, either. But it was doing _something_ , and Nick found himself walking over anyway. Some old instinct made him look around surreptitiously, in case somebody was about to witness him doing somebody suspicious. Because that’d be a good excuse not to do it. No such luck - the alley was deserted, with negligible visibility from the lot or the street. He sighed, mentally prepared himself for the inevitable stench, and pushed the lid open.

He hadn’t prepared nearly enough. A dozen or more different smells assaulted his nose, few of them pleasant. He fixated on the one that kinda-sorta reminded him of a perfume he once sold, long enough to give the dumpster’s contents a once-over, and hurried to close the lid, grabbing a desperate breath of fresh air. This was a bad idea. This had been a terrible idea from the very start, but damnit, he started it, he might as well see it to the end, if only to give his mind time to refresh and come up with a better one.

He climbed the step to the second dumpster, pushed the lid open, and stared at the little rectangular piece of aggressively pink rubber smack-bang in the middle of the trash inside. There was a little stylized rabbit head dongle attached to it. Because of course there was.

Nick took a step back, rolling his eyes, muttering thanks and grumbling about his luck. Just this once, it would have been nice to be wrong, but _noooo_. Well, he had a clue, it was time to deal with it now. But not unprepared.

He took his time rolling up his sleeves all the way to his biceps, and not just because it delayed the fact he’d be diving headfirst into a dumpster. Then, he went for his gear. If there was one thing he picked up from working with Judy, it was to always be ready to pick up some clues, which was why one of his pockets always held a pair of latex gloves (the loveliest shade of pastel blue) and an entire roll of sealable plastic bags of various sizes. There was also something else, which Judy didn’t know about and wouldn’t probably even think about.

The problem with having a sensitive nose is that it doesn’t come with an off switch. So, like any canid (or otherwise nasally gifted) officer, Nick had been issued some nose plugs, and not the cheap kind, either. This was the kind that wouldn’t leave you breathing through your mouth and gagging from the taste of the air, and _really_ required somebody to carefully explain to you how to use them safely..

Step one, check the packaging. The foil packet was still hermetically sealed, at least until Nick pulled the tab and dropped the little pair of yellow plugs onto his palm. He caught a whiff of an indescribable smell - that was not as figure of speech. The smell had been specifically, carefully chosen to be like nothing else.

Step two, and the most important one, hold your breath. Step three, fit the plugs in your nose - Nick always had a bit of a problem with this one, as the smallest size they had was clearly designed for wolves. He’d managed though, even if the result looked a bit comical. Well. More comical than usual. Step four, check fit. Step five…

Step five, slowly, calmly, start inhaling through your nose. The olfactory equivalent of white noise filled Nick’s senses. Different mammals described the scent differently - to Nick, it always seemed like disinfectant mixed with something strong and herbal, at least for the few moments before his sense of smell gave up and cut out entirely.

Step six, exhale, through your mouth. Try not to gag at the taste, bitter and chemical. While the plugs had valves, it was safer not to risk dislodging them before they settled. Repeat until you’re comfortable. Nick spent the time wondering at how, dubiously pleasant as this exercise was, there were times in his life he’d probably have killed to be able to shut off his nose like that, let alone pay the inflated price they fetched on the open market.

Hmm. The ZPD did get them directly from the manufacturer, at probably a few bucks a _box_ , tops. If he could talk his way into the quartermaster’s good graces, maybe he could get in on that. Let’s see, if he could move them at  two dollars, no, one-eighty a pair, that’d still be well under the going price… maybe Finnick could line up some buyers, and--

And his senses were no longer screaming at him, which meant he’d run out of excuses to put it off.

It was time for that most time-honored of police actions: the dumpster dive.

He sighed, and set to work.

It had to be said: The plugs worked wonderfully. He couldn’t even smell the refuse he was going through. Touching it was bad enough. The phone case was easy enough to find, what with its striking coloration and all. A minute of digging produced four wallets and a bent piece of plastic that Nick identified as a library card. He gave up when another few minutes only resulted in a fifth wallet. He backed out of the dumpster, gasping for air - even though it didn’t smell any different, it _felt_ better.

“Hm.” He turned his finds in his gloved hands. Mentally, he drew a line connecting the parking lot and this alley, and extrapolated onto the city map in his head. The line went straight through… “Happytown.” He said to himself. Maybe his hunch was right.

Nick’s first instinct was to remove the nose plugs, but he thought better of it. He still had to deal with the wallets, and they probably didn’t smell of blueberries. He wanted to bag them up, but before that, he should inspect them.

They were, predictably, empty of money. Even the change was gone, a lone five-cent coin stuck under the edge of the lining in one. No credit cards, either - though that might have simply meant there weren’t any there in the first place. It wasn’t the kind of theft the victims would fail to mention. Other than that… there was another library card. There were a dozen or more different business cards. There was a parking ticket, and a pair of movie ticket stubs. There was a little cardboard packet, torn open to reveal the photographs of a smiling bunny, probably the owner. There was an old gift card, an old rewards card, and an old piece of card about a dentist appointment. Oh, and a card so old it remembered Flockbuster. There was the detritus that wallets normally accumulated with everyday use. And yet...

And yet, something was nagging at him. The feeling that he was missing something. He turned the wallets around in his hands, trying to put his finger on it. As he started bagging them, a flap of fabric and foil fell out of one - he almost missed it.

The flap fell out because it had been cut out, as if to get at whatever it contained. It was the sort of thing you’d keep your ID in, and--

None of the wallets contained any identification. They certainly had the _room_ for it, but there was none. And he didn’t see any in the trash, where he’d expect it. After all, who stole a wallet and kept the ID?

…

But… they didn’t steal _just_ some wallets, did they? The thief, very deliberately, very thoroughly, went through their luggage, and grabbed every ID card they found.

...but why? Who would steal a dozen or more IDs? Bunny IDs, at that!

And a cynical, practical part of Nick’s mind provided a simple suggestion: somebody who had a buyer. Somebody - somebody in Happytown, in _Zootopia_ , wanted to buy a dozen bunny IDs. But why?

Nick didn’t know. With the wallets and case bagged away, he stood there and tried to figure it out, kneading the balled-up latex gloves and nose plugs in his hands.

Who would want a dozen bunny IDs? And why? He didn’t know. What was weirder, he didn’t know _who_ could know. But…

It was as if a light came up in his head, and he froze. He didn’t know -- but maybe, just maybe, he had the second best thing.

He knew somebody who would _want_ to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The next chapter should be shorter", he says.
> 
> Cue the laugh track. COLLECT CALL ended up growing so big I had to, once more, split it into two. So, enjoy TOURIST TRAP, and COLLECT CALL will come... sometime soon.
> 
> Also, once more, with infinite thanks to my betta halves.


End file.
